Where We Belong
by starahel
Summary: I place another kiss on her lips and that's when I know. That brief moment before Katie finds us, limbs entangled and lips bruised. At that exact moment in time, I'd be prepared if she asked me why I loved her. It's something new everyday. Today, it's...
1. Wide Eyes and Bruised Knees

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing Skins related, sadly. We all know how much we'd love to have an Emily or Naomi in our closet.  
**Summary:** There are many things in this world that Naomi Campbell can answer: the square root to every number, how long it would take to travel to Saturn and the name of every bone in the body. But when it comes to Emily Fitch, there are just some things that can't be answered. "Everyday, in every way, I find something new to love about you."  
**Rating: **I rated this T but it'll range from T to M, I'll give you a heads up. :)  
**A/N:** Hello! :) This is my first Skins fic and I'm really excited about it, so I hope you give it a chance. I have to be honest, I'm American so my knowledge of British terminology is very slim to none. But I'll try my best to keep the authentic Skins feeling to the fic. Please excuse the errors, I scanned through it briefly and I hope I didn't miss anything! With that being said...let me know what you think! :)

* * *

"Naomi, why do you love me?"

My entire body goes rigid as she curls into me, our heavy duvet covering her bright hair making the question seem like it was asked from nowhere. Bloody hell, of all the questions to ask. She could have asked me why the sky was blue and I could have given her an answer. Or perhaps the first 100 numbers of Pi, I could give her that in a heartbeat. But the question of 'why?' entails that there is only one correct answer, which is, in this case, just not plausible.

She must have taken my silence as hesitation as she places a kiss on my bare shoulder, wordlessly telling that she doesn't need an answer. She might not need one, but she sure as hell deserves one. I toss the idea around in my head for a few more moments, readjusting the blanket under my chin, feeling her warm breaths flush my skin with each exhale. _Why?_ How could I pick just _one_ thing? I pick up the blanket and peek underneath it, her hair in stark contrast with the white sheets. Slowly she lifts her head, her deep brown eyes invading all of my senses and leaving me paralyzed as she stares intently at me. And there I go again, feeling like we're the only two people in this world, like I always do when she looks at me. I maneuver myself until we're face to face, pulling the blanket high above our heads, our own personal fortress.

We continue to look at each other, like we often do. Staring, touching, exploring, memorizing. Each curve and dent and inch of skin. I trail my fingertips across her arm, feeling goosebumps rise in its wake. I trail over her shoulder, applying the lightest touch across her ticklish neck, watching her squirm and giggle in response until I reach out to brush a stray lock out of her eyes. I clear my throat, mentally prepping myself for this kind of situation that I, Naomi Campbell - politically-inclined, can't-be-bothered-to-give-a-rats-ass kind of girl - would usually run from. And run far away, I might add.

"Ems," I start. The vulnerability in my voice chilling me to the bone. "I can't give you a reason." I see her eyes begin to water as she raises the corner of her mouth in a half-smile, the smile that says she's disappointed but won't press any further; the one that I became very familiar with during our adolescent years. She tucks her chin into her chest, effectively blocking her expression from me. I brush her bangs from her face and place a light kiss on her forehead before reaching a finger under her chin, instructing her to look at me. "I can't give you a reason... because everyday, in every way, I find something new to love about you." I cringe, finally comprehending what I just said. If someone would have told 17-year-old me that those words would be coming from my lips, I would have laughed, loudly, in their face before calling them a tosser and flipping them off. But somehow, at this exact moment, lying in bed and hiding under a blanket with the girl of my undivided attention since age 12, it makes perfect sense. What has this girl done to me?

She lets out a squeak of delight before pressing her lips against mine.

* * *

Today, we are twelve years old.

One of the many years during that period of awkward growing. Our limbs too long, too fast. Scrawny and tall, unsure of how to present oneself. Arms crossed, uncrossed, pressed tightly to our sides. All gathered around in a schoolmates basement for said schoolmate's birthday. Someone hands me a cup and I drink it. The first slow burn of alcohol igniting a fire in my throat on its way down. I laugh because someone else laughs and soon enough we're all laughing. We're all finally getting over those tense first minutes when we realize we're doing something not suitable for our age group but letting the alcohol overwhelm any reason to actually care.

And then I see her. She's across the room, standing unsure next to her overly-confident twin. I don't understand the sensation that takes over me but I can't take my eyes off of her. Watching intently as she shifts her weight from one foot to the other, standing quietly behind her sister until the dominant twin moves; in which case, she follows. They're matching in their button-up shirts and black waist skirts, albeit the other sister's shirt has one too many buttons undone, showing off her developing cleavage. She's drawing in a crowd, with her dark red hair and her loud stories while the timid twin slinks away into the background.

It's a while before I see her again. Four more cups of this mystery drink to be exact. She's sitting at the top of the stairs, her skirt pushed up past her knees, a cup in her hand. She has effectively hidden herself from the rest of the party, seeing everyone but no one seeing her. She rests an elbow on her leg, her hand keeping her head up as she carelessly sips from her drink. And, as if she and I were magnets, something pulls me towards her. Her knees are red and bruised and the only thought that comes to my head while I mindlessly walk up the staircase to her is, 'Who is this girl with the bruised knees?'

Her eyes widen as she watches me approach her, almost as if she's scared of the attention she's drawn to herself. I reach her and sit down on the same step, our bare arms brushing from time to time. I reach out a hand,

"Naomi." I slur, the excess rush of blood to my head leaves me slightly disoriented.

I watch as her eyes widen even more, as if that were possible, as she glances between my hand and my face.

"I-I-I know. Emily, me. I'm-I'm Emily." She answers quietly.

_Emily._ It fits her perfectly.

She reaches her hand out tentatively, shaking until it finally comes in contact with my own. Her porcelain skin is the warmest kind of warm that you imagine holding every night and wake up next to in the morning, for the rest of your life.

She gasps, and I can only hope she felt that too.

There's an uncomfortable silence that follows. I continue to stare at her, willing her to look at me, but she continues to stare straight ahead as if hoping she'll just blend in with the furniture. She nervously brushes her hair behind her right ear. Once, twice, three times. I want to ask her about her bruised knees. I want to ask her many things, and I want to know all of the answers to them. But I bite my tongue, afraid I'd sound too interested if I did. Mentally swearing to myself that I would not ask this girl any questions. _You're straight, remember?_ Instead I say,

"You're different from your sister." As if I've known them all my life.

"How so?" Once again, it's spoken quietly, as if she's whispering.

I ponder the question. "I'm not sure yet." _But I can't wait to find out._

It's 11:30 PM when the giggling begins to die down. Some of the girls have begun to climb into their sleeping bags and call it a night, while others are just getting started. We've abandoned our spot at the top of the stairs and found refuge in a quiet corner, barricaded by couches and bookshelves. I say something and she laughs loudly, rolling onto her back and pulling the blanket with her. I curl towards her, soaking in her body heat. I'm not cold, but I say I am and explain to her that's why I'm so close to her, because she's hogging all of the blanket. She smiles, and it's a smile full of knowing and understanding.

She disappears underneath the blanket and I'm left confused, lying on my back and staring at the creme-colored ceiling. I feel a light tug at the hem of my shirt, and then another one, followed by a nudge of her head against my shoulder. I pull the blanket high above our heads and roll over onto my side to face her, her face pressed adorably against my jacket that she rolled into a makeshift pillow. She's so tiny. Everything about her is tiny. Her hands, her feet, her ears, her button nose. I can feel her raise a nervous hand, feeling along the two inch (and closing) gap between our bodies until she finds it. She laces her fingers through mine. My hand, far too large and irresponsible to be holding something so tiny and fragile, envelops hers. We don't say anything. The air tense with unspoken words dying to be said. She runs her tongue across her bottom lip and I feel my mouth go dry. I can't even begin to comprehend what's happening. My whole body is screaming for contact, telling me to close the space between us and just _feel_ her. The constant war between my head and heart is raging and I can feel my alcohol-induced confidence begin to kick in. But before I have a chance to tell my body to move, she does it for me.

It's slow motion. Slowly, she slides her body until it's flushed against mine. Her breathing ragged, much like my own. There's a new kind of look in her eye when she meets my gaze. It's confident, it's sure and it's full of need and want, unlike her usual sheepish demeanor. Even without speaking, she's telling me everything.

_If you don't move, I'll do it. _

Do it, I dare you. She raises an eyebrow in defiance.

_I mean it._

Just do it already, please.

And she does. Her lips, as soft as I imagined them to be, move against mine perfectly. Her tongue, an indescribable warmth as it brushes against my bottom lip and slips into my mouth. Our kisses are soft and hesitant, growing into this relentless need to touch and taste and feel the other. I kiss the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her jaw, her neck. Her heavy breathing in my ear spreading this warmth in my body. She giggles as I trail her neck with tiny kisses,

"Tickles." She lets out a smile that stops my heart as I taste her skin. She lets out a soft gasp as I flip us over, my leg falling in between hers as I hold myself up slightly with my arms. She's under me now and I feel her writhing beneath me, aching for any kind of contact. She opens her eyes languidly, her lids heavy and her lips smeared with the shade of my lipstick. I'm not sure how long I look at her, but it dawns on me that it's one second too long when her eyes widen, perhaps with fear over the gravity of the situation finally setting in or because she thinks she's scared me off. I lower myself down to place another kiss on her lips, and that's when I know.

That brief moment before Katie reaches us and rips the blanket away. Before the moment of utter fear that takes control of Emily's body. Before the undistinguishable amounts of yelling and screaming as the others begin to wake and crowd around. Before all of that, and at that exact moment in time, I'd be prepared if she asked me why I loved her.

Today, it's her wide eyes and her bruised knees.

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**Soo.. what do you think? :) Is it worth continuing?**


	2. I Feel It All

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing Skins or Buffy the Vampire Slayer related, sadly. :(  
**Rating: **T! Brief mention of knickers  
**Warning:** If you disliked Sophia as much as I did... well get over it because she's mentioned in this chapter.  
**A/N:** Ahhhhh! You guys are so amazing. Thank you to everyone who favorited/reviewed, you guys were the reason I cranked this one out so fast. It's so exciting to see my little idea that sprung to life at 4 in the morning being appreciated by wonderful people. :) And I'm really glad I didn't lose your interest with the first line, "Why do you love me?" MY GOD that is cringe worthy. But I didn't know how else to set it up! I have to say, I am a little... indifferent about this chapter. Describing the the Sophia/Naomi relationship was probably the hardest thing I've ever done. I want this fic to be as true to the show as possible so I've been doing RIDICULOUS amounts of research (i.e. rewatching every scene and taking detailed notes). I've separated the flashback because I thought it could be really confusing if I didn't, so I hope I don't lose you in the middle of the chapter! Anyways, I hope I haven't let you guys down with this one. :)  
**P.S.** I have to dedicate this one to **HyperFitched**. I've been writing for quite some time now and I think that was the best review I've ever gotten, so thank you. I threw a little shout out to you in this chapter with the "gravitational pull" you mentioned in your review. ;)

Enjoy! :D

* * *

Today, we are seventeen years young and basking in the first rays of sunlight Bristol has seen in months.

We've managed to slip away from under the watchful eye of Katie and the constant revision for 'A' levels and stole a few moments to just leave and feel _free_. To not have so many worries or care about anything. Not the older Fitch's angry words, not the bollocks revision has taught you, and especially not the girl that could be potentially dead because of me_._ Just the taste of her lips on the spliff as she passes it to me, our fingers grazing and our touches lasting a moment longer than they usually would. We've chosen to picnic at the park we've walked through on numerous occasions, mostly to and from the pub. Since it was that time of day when most everyone was at work or uni, it really did feel like we had escaped from the world, except for the few elderly couples shuffling through. We're sprawled out on the blue blanket that always reminds me of her, our bodies angled awkwardly away from each other but our faces side by side, so close they're almost touching.

"That one kind of looks like a fanny." She points to a cloud that does _not_ in any way resemble any genitalia I've seen and the THC-induced giggles start. She laughs and then I laugh and then it's all we hear as it echoes around us. These stolen moments that, if I were to be suddenly struck and killed, would flash right before my eyes in that brief instant I saw the impact approaching; the last thoughts I'd ever have consisting of Emily Fitch. Her laugh, her voice, her eyes, her hair, her smile.

"Of course it looks like a fanny. Every thing looks like a fanny to you, you muff monkey."

"Fuck off." She says with a laugh before rolling over to press her lips against mine. She always tastes like honey and mint and I get drunk off of her. "You think Cyprus is nice this time of year?" She stretches her arms above her head, causing her jumper to rise revealing the silky skin of her abdomen.

"I hope so." My eyes trail up her body until I see her, eyes closed and soaking in the subtle warmth.

"Can you imagine? Lying on the beach in winter? Miles away from home, without a single care?" Her voice adapting that dreamy-like tone that she always seems to use when she plans our future together. "Doesn't it sound lovely?"

"It really does, Ems." And I mean it, although I feel my stomach clench instinctually.

"That's where we're going to go after graduation. Just you and me, alright?" The happiness that is evident in her voice makes my heart melt.

"Alright." If this was a few weeks earlier I would be doing everything not to scream and jerk away from her touch. I'd feel that overwhelming sense of being _cared_ for and feel _that_ much more trapped. It's a ridiculous feeling. I know that now, but I learned it the hard way. I had gone and fucked everything up.

"Promise me." She opens one eye to peek at me, making a pouting face that only someone with no heart could refuse. "Cross your heart?" She draws the shape of an 'X' above where she believes her heart to be (it's actually located a little more to the left according to my anatomy coursework). I shut my eyes, feeling everything I've tried so hard to push away come crashing down, desperate to make its existence known. I feel it. The guilt, the impending terror, the heartbreak. I feel it all.

* * *

I feel that brief sense of freedom as I told Emily I'd be home in a few hours. _Just going to run some errands, Ems._ And she believed me, saying something about her mom wanting her to be home more often anyways that I didn't quite catch due to the door slamming in my haste to run, and run far. Of all the places I thought of going, they all had one thing in common: Emily. _Pub?_ Couldn't go there. Not without imagining my tiny Fitch, already fairly giddy after downing half of her pint. The street lights, the pavement, the trees. All blending together until it's her and I walking down the road in the early morning, making the treacherous journey home ten times longer than it needs to be. A kiss there, a touch here. Standing in the middle of the road, pressed up against the back-alley wall, hands cupping and clawing for any exposed skin. Without even realizing it, I end up on the Goldsmith University campus. The grounds abuzz with anticipation, prospective students meeting other prospective students while their parents watch anxiously from a distance. It wasn't fate or some gravitational pull that brought me here, not like with Emily. It was the sequence of unconsciously catching a bus, connecting to a train and walking the few blocks until I felt this utter sense of chaos that I longed to be lost in as well.

She taps my shoulder. There's something familiar about her and I can see the same exact pain in her eyes that I feel inside my ribcage, and so I smile at her. She says her name is Sophia and we spend the rest of the time talking, conversing over drinks. We catch a train home and she sits closely next to me. The alcohol making my tongue looser than usual. I divulge that I had to lie to come today, she tells me so did she and I move my hand, holding hers. It's everything I'm not used to. A hand nearly the same size as my own, the coldness of her skin unsettling. I take her to my home, everything reminding me of my girlfriend the moment I open the door and let this stranger invade our memories.

I watch as she looks over the photos on the wall before leaning against the doorframe of the living room. I feel Emily. Her warm mouth, her desperate pleas and her hand reaching down into my knickers as I forcefully press her against the same wooden frame. Sophia takes a nervous seat on the couch, and I imagine Emily sitting at one end with my head in her lap, stroking my hair and lulling me to sleep with her breaths.

I tell the girl I feel trapped, admitting it more to myself than to her. She says she understands and then I kiss her. It's awkward and sloppy and painful, not easy and natural like I'm used to. But I continue to move my lips anyways. Determined to not let the tiny redhead have complete control over me. Not allowing her to be the only person who could ruin my life, not giving her that hold on me. The brown-haired girl runs a hand under my shirt, leaving an unpleasant burning feeling against my skin; telling me she wants more. And I let her, thinking of Emily the whole time.

I leave the house unable to stand myself. Disgusted and angry, taking it out on anyone in my course. I return home late, heavily intoxicated and determined to pass out the moment I hit the bed. I clumsily open the door to my room and feel my heart beat against my chest at the sight of her. Her head pressed against my pillows, the blue blanket draped across her waist revealing the bare skin of her _everything_. She's turned on her side, waiting for me to occupy the rest of the bed. I quickly shed my clothes, hoping I don't smell as bad as I feel and take my rightful place. My hand finding her hip as she moves into me, pulling me close while she dreams. I watch her blank expression, her even breathing the only sound in the room.

And for what feels like the first time, I inhale; feeling the realization of everything finally crash over me, again and again. The relentless waves pulling me under. I breathe her in. The scent of her skin, the faint taste of honey and mint, the feeling of her skin against mine until I'm drowning in her. And it finally dawns on me that there's no where else I'd rather be.

* * *

"You're criticizing my lack of knowledge of the placement of my vital organs again, aren't you?" It takes me a second to realize what she's referring to. I mentally shake myself, ridding any of those thoughts from my head before I nod and shift her hand slightly to the left of her ribcage. I place my lips against the spliff, tasting her as I inhale, reveling in the taste for as long as I can because I know our days are numbered now even if she doesn't have the slightest clue. She laughs, "Jesus, is there anything revisions haven't taught you? Got all the perfect squares memorized?"

I effortlessly go through the list in my head, "4, 9, 16, 25, 36, 49, 64, 81, 100..."

She interrupts me mockingly, "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just because you're a woman doesn't you're just a looker, you've got brains. Women's rights, bananas are positively patriarchal, bollocks. We get it. Now cross your heart and promise me." I laugh as she raises herself onto her elbow, slightly hovering above me.

I humor her, because I never want to see her frown because of me ever again. I draw an 'X', "I promise."

And she lets out that smile.

The one that starts off slow before spreading across her whole face and reaching her eyes. Her lips, curling over her teeth and revealing her sharpened canines that I love so much and secretly indulges my _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ fantasies. It's not those smiles she saves for polite conversation, or the awkward school photo, or even for her family. It's the one that says everything without needing to say a word. It's complete and whole and it's like there is no darkness in the world. It's the smile that the word 'happiness' was created to define, the one that catches breaths and makes everyone stop and stare. I like to think it's the one she saves just for me, since I'm the only one lucky enough to see it the most. It's _our _secret smile. It's the smile that says everything. The one that say at this exact moment in time she is genuinely and entirely _happy _and it's because of _me_.

I try to remember everything about this moment. The way she looks as she continues to hover above me. The way the light breeze tousles her hair. The way her lips twitch when she sees that I'm staring at her and she lets out that same smile once again. I try my best to engrave every single detail of this moment into my brain because I know that soon it'll be our last. It's at this exact moment where I realize what an arse I've made of myself. Struggling to be free from the only person I will ever want to be with. It's at this moment that I realize I never want to be anywhere but right beside her. And it's at this moment I realize I'd do anything to see her smile like that again.

And she does. Wordlessly telling me what I'm saying right back.

_I love you._

Today, it's _that _smile. The one she saves just for me.

* * *

**Thoughts? :) Promise I don't bite.**


	3. Whatever It Is

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing but my cheesy story lines. **  
****Rating:** T - for swearing.  
**Time frame:** A little before 3x08 (Katie and Emily with the Love Ball)  
**A/N:** Hello guys! I'm sorry it has taken so long for me to update. Tragedy struck with my computer so I didn't have it for a few weeks. I tried a new take on the whole flashback thing, instead of separating it, I italicized and wrote in past tense. So sorry for the weird tense changes! Also, I'm sorry for portraying Emily as such a wet blanket in this chapter. But... well, come on. She kind of was. But I think we all loved that about her, don't we? :)  
Sidenote: I was going to go in chronological order but that would have meant this chapter would be after Emily found out about Sophia and, although I did write it, it was really upsetting and I didn't want to put a damper on your day. So I think maybe I'll just jump around, that'll give me more writing freedom. As noted above this would take place a little before 3x08 with the Love Ball.

Anyways, enjoy!

* * *

Today, she hates everything about me.

My stupid face. My unkempt hair. The way I tie my shoes. My off-key singing to her favorite songs. The way I mumble. My tendency to leave lip-shaped bruises on her neck. My snoring.

"And your fucking... _fuck_!" And my 'fucking _fuck'_.

She lets out a grunt and hurries down the stairs to the front door, slinging her schoolbag over her shoulder.

"Emily, don't." She retracts her hand from the front door and turns around.

"Don't _what_, Naomi?" She moves until there's barely inches between us, standing on her toes to glare at me. "Why can't you just say it back? I love you. _I_ love you. It's fucking English!" Her voice breaks at the end and her eyes begin to glaze over. The moment I see her tears threaten to spill all I can think is, '_Oh, Jesus. Please don't start crying again.'_ Naomi Campbell does not _do _the whole shoulder-to-cry on thing, and I am in no way to be trusted to give any kind of advice, with my fucked up disposition as living proof.

My inability to form any kind of stable relationship with another person, let alone another female, is most likely to blame for this unnecessary confrontation. But even minutes before I had chased her down the stairs and we were the sounds of heavy breathing and the movements of curious hands, I couldn't bring myself to say it. Not when she rolled us over on the floor and straddled my hips with her bare thighs. Or when she kissed me softly and brushed my hair from my face with her fingertips. Not even when she stared straight into my eyes and watched me watch her.

"_I love you."_ It was barely spoken, but the words resounded loudly between my ears. I looked away, afraid that if I continued to stare into those eyes, so wide with hope, that I just might drown in them. The rays of sunlight that peered through the window created streaks in her vibrant hair that fell around my face like a curtain. She licked her lips when the silence stretched on longer than she had planned it to; the nervous habit that she had developed during primary school. I'm awestruck when I realize I know that significant fact. Amazed that I've spent enough time with this girl to know that Jenna Fitch always sent her daughters to first grade with freshly applied moisturizing lip-balm that tingles the lips as it cools. And that young Emily would lick her lips constantly until the tingling would cease. And that now whenever her lips begin to feel the familiar tickle, she'd lick them. _Classical conditioning at its finest._

Suddenly comprehending my increasing knowledge of all that is Emily Fitch, I began to feel the tightening in my chest.

I'm unfamiliar with being this attached to someone and it scares the living fuck out of me. Unfamiliar with knowing what she means to say when she can't quite find the words to express it. Unaccustomed to her unusually high body temperature that radiates waves of warmth as it wraps itself around me as we sleep. Everything I've learned by observing, by listening to late at night when she's had dinner with Gina and I and occupies my bed into the morning. Everything about this _thing,_ whatever it is, it's suffocating and it's terrifying and I never expected to feel this. Especially towards _her_.

I can ignore it all I want and swear it doesn't exist. But there's something there and I can feel it. When her touches linger. When I catch her scent in the breeze as she walks away. The smoldering warmth that engulfs my hand as it brushes against hers while we walk. The offbeat rhythm of her footsteps as she walks towards me. I refuse to be a cliche and say that my heart beats faster every time she's in close proximity. It's just an ache in the space between my lungs, no love-sickened heart full of longing and desire; just smoke and air.

She licked her lips again and my own began to twitch and buzz with anticipation. _"I love you, Naomi."_ And the space between my lungs began to beat rapidly, shaking my ribs and causing a shortness of breath. I felt a rush of blood to my head and started to feel lightheaded as I glanced up at her, hovering over my motionless body.

_She loves me._ It's a strange thought to comprehend, but as I looked at her looking at me, I felt her love in my bones streaming through my veins. Her words were powerful enough to form them in my mind and place them on my tongue. Giving me enough courage to attempt to repeat them. _I love you. _I would hate myself later but I inhaled anyways, knowing that if I didn't say them now I might never,

"_I-"_

"_-I said I loved you." _

"_- no!"_ I felt my nerve dissipate as confusion quickly overtook her lusty features.

"_You... know?"_ She sat up, her bare legs still pressed tightly against my hips. I trailed my hands up her silky skin, pushing her dress a little further up until stopping to grasp her hips. I raised myself up from the floor into a sitting position, holding her tightly in my lap. She maneuvered herself until she wrapped her legs around my torso and crossed them, her heels digging into the small of my back.

"_Mhm." _I placed a soft kiss on her forehead and watched her watching me as I wondered what it must feel like to be in love. Is it asphyxiating like I imagine it to be? Does one lose their sense of identity and continue to change into whoever their partner wants them to be? Isn't love a fleeting commodity that leaves as quickly as it comes? And if so, how is it that this tiny girl that I hold in my lap seems to be promising forever just by looking at me?

"_Usually when someone tells you they love you, you usually say it back. It's the polite thing to do."_ She chuckled, but I could hear the hidden truth. Her need for a response momentarily distracted me from my inner-musing of what this _love_ thing, that everyone keeps going on about, is truly about. Is it possible that after all these years of telling myself that what I felt for that twelve-year-old girl under the sheets at a schoolmate's birthday was just normal adolescent curiosity and has now hardened me? Has the constant denial effectively made me unable to love anyone? I _felt_ something, so many years ago, and I acted upon it. And it left me with a bitter taste in my mouth and my name spoken in whispers by girls I had never met before as I walked past them at school.

"_I know." _It was all I seemed to be able to say.

"_So?"_ She looked at me expectantly and then to my lips, which were sealed shut. "_I love you."_

I felt the walls that I've been building for so long to keep others out begin to crumble at her words. As if this tiny girl was actually taking an ice pick to the bricks and chipping away. And even though her efforts seemed futile, it's there. A small gap in the brick, large enough for me to slip my hand through and leave my boundaries behind for the briefest of moments as she places her hand in mine. Waiting patiently on the other side of the wall, silently telling me that she'll wait _for now, _and then she's coming back with a bulldozer to finish what she's started.

_I love you, too._ I let it run through my mind a few times, preparing myself to actually speak the words. I inhaled, _"I know." _Silence. Me and my stupid mouth, always moving faster than my actual brain processes. All I could do was wait for it's repercussions.

"_You know?" _I saw the whole spectrum of emotions pass on her face. Confusion, surprise, sadness. I braced myself for the biggest one of all. "_That's it?" _Anger._ "For fuck's sake! I tell you I love you and all you have to say is, 'I know'?" _She began to wriggle away from my hold, standing up and grabbing her belongings. "_God, I _hate _you!_" I bit back a laugh at the irony but ended up smiling anyways which infuriated her tiny form even more._ "Fuck, I _hate _you. Everything about you! I hate your... stupid face! And your unkempt hair! Jesus, ever heard of a comb? And by the way, you tie your fucking shoes incorrectly. Who taught you how to tie them, a blind man?" _

She may be small and she's rarely angry, but when she is, it's definitely a sight to see. I took her in: her defensive stance, her flared nostrils, her heavy breathing, her hands balled into tiny fists. The sight caused me to laugh again which added more fuel to her forest fire. She continued to list things she hated about me but I couldn't hear them. All I could see was her. I saw her, and I felt her, and I smelled her and I tasted the faint traces of her on my lips. Watching her, standing in a summer dress, clearly disheveled with a slight tint of pink in her cheeks and bruised lips. It was this moment when I felt her love in my bones become my own.

"_Are you even listening to me? Fucking hell! I hate when you don't listen!"_ She nearly shrilled, a normally unused volume of speaking that she usually leaves for Katie. I remained unmoved from my spot on the floor, long legs crossed and a dazed smile forming on my face. It takes me a minute to realize she's no longer standing in my bedroom, hearing her clambering down the stairs, her weight too light to stomp as intimidatingly as she would have liked. "And I hate your fucking... _fuck!_" She shouts at the top of her lungs and I'm grateful that Gina isn't home.

"Emily, don't." I called from my bedroom doorway before rushing down the steps and stopping before her.

"Don't _what_, Naomi?" She moves until there's barely inches between us, standing on her tiptoes to glare at me. "Why can't you just say it back? I love you. _I_ love _you_. It's fucking English!" Tears begin to form in her eyes and I'm pushing away my instinct to detach myself from intimacy with another person. I tentatively cup her face with my hand, her tense muscles relaxing visibly. I bend down, placing my lips against hers gently; hoping to say everything that I cannot say.

When I pull away her eyes are still closed. She opens them lazily, her eyes a lust-darkened shade of brown. "I love you." She whispers again into the room. And I know she means it. I know that after years of pushing away these feelings and hiding from them, that she's finally being openly honest. She watches me, choking over my own words with my tongue feeling like it's two sizes too big.

_I love you. _I attempt once more for her sake, "I..." I trail off, defeated. "I know." She doesn't push the matter any further as she wraps her arms around my waist and places her ear against my chest, listening to my heartbeat and gently swaying us to its rhythm.

It's strange when I hear her say it again, indirectly. It's at the Love Ball, in front of half of our schoolmates, but most importantly: Katie. We walk out, our hands entwined with her head held high. I glance at her through my periphery, noting that at this moment the quiet and shy Emily I once knew was now gone and replaced by this beautiful and confident girl. We reach the outside steps of the gymnasium when I finally say something,

"Some party." I attempt a joke, treading lightly on this fragile situation.

"Eventful." She retorts.

"Yeah." The next words out of my mouth have never made me feel more vulnerable. "I love you, too." It's out there, and now there's no going back. I don't need to see it, I _feel_ her smile next to me.

"I know." I stop walking, pulling her towards me with a gentle tug of her hand.

I smile slightly at the lightness of the conversation, "You know?" She nods her head in agreement. "So?" She looks at me expectantly with a feigned oblivious expression on her face. "I love you." I say it again, still feeling just as naked and bare as the first time. She raises herself on her toes to place a lingering kiss on my lips and pulls back,

"I know." She says with a nonchalant shrug of her shoulder. She looks at me as if to say, _I know. I've always known, perhaps even before you knew yourself._ I feel my face flush and I'm sure that my cheeks are bright red. But I can't help it, I smile again and she smiles back. Everything in this moment is foreign and surreal, but the feeling of her hand in my hand is the only thing assuring me it's actually happening. I watch her, watching me. Her lips, a smeared shade of red lipstick that look so kissable at this moment. I feel my lips begin to tremble at the thought of kissing her again, and I know she feels it too when she darts her tongue out to lick her own buzzing lips.

Today, it's the way she makes my lips tingle.

* * *

**Thoughts? :)**


	4. Help, I'm Alive

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing Skins related.  
**Time frame:** Somewhere between 4x02 (when Emily finds out) and 4x08 (the finale).  
**Warning: **Angsty and sad.  
**A/N:** I know, I know. It's been a while. This has been sitting in my documents folder for a while now. School has started back up, and you know how that goes. It's nearly 4 in the morning but I wanted to get this out while I had the chance. I'm not sure when the next update will be but I do have a few chapters already started. I'm not sure how I feel about this one, so I'd love to hear your thoughts. And without further ado... enjoy!

* * *

Today, she won't even look at me and I can physically feel its absence.

No longing looks from across the corridors, no _fuck-me-now _stares at the kitchen counter, not even an acknowledgement of my existence as she gets ready for a night out with God only knows who.

She leaves without saying goodbye.

No _'Love you'_, no _'I'll be back before...'_, and no guarantee that once she passes through the front door she'll ever return. And I've never felt more worthless.

I lie awake; eyes wide open staring at the darkened ceiling with the stillness of the silence as my only company. Its constant ringing in my ears is the only thing that assures me that I'm still awake; still alive. _Everything is so fragile. Didn't you realize that? We were special._ The moment those words left her lips and fell into the air, I died along with them. Every day since then has came and left in a blur. Sure, I did everything I did before that fateful day but I merely _existed. _And just because you exist, doesn't mean you're alive. I am cold, hard, living proof.

She creeps in later than she did the previous night. Her light footsteps treading delicately against the carpet, barely making a sound. I struggle to steady my breathing to an even rhythm knowing that she's come back, here, with me. And for reasons beyond me, I feign sleep; the familiar sounds of her presence lulling me into a blissful daze. My eyelids begin to slowly close, fatigue quickly overcoming me and as I watch her through half-lidded eyes I image that for these brief moments, everything is right again.

My heavy eyelids finally shut as I listen to the pattering of her tiny frame's footsteps; having watched her bedtime routine countlessly, I map her route around the room by memory. I hear the faint sound of the latch as she shuts the door. She crosses our mixed piles of dirty laundry scattered across the floor before noiselessly passing over the soft spot of the rug that only squeaks under my weight and clumsy footsteps. She moves towards the drawer, turning her back to me to remove her jewelry. The necklace from Katie. _Clink._ I hear the soft rattle of metal on wood and take it as confirmation. The bracelet from her mother. _Clink._ The last streams of moonlight peer through the window, illuminating her flawless porcelain skin as she sheds her clothes. She momentarily loses her balance as she struggles with her stockings, letting out drunken giggles. She rights herself and moves over towards the -

- but she doesn't, breaking from her usual routine. And it leaves me unsure of where she's standing.

I feel a warm finger trail across my toes and a jolt of electricity sparks through my veins. _Oh, that's where._ She stands at the foot of the bed, directly at my feet, but I steal a glance; hoping the darkness of the room will hide my half-opened eyes. Her stark form makes my breath catch in my throat. I feel my mouth go bone dry and my palms begin to sweat. She hasn't spared me a glance once today and I feel the heavy weight of her gaze consume me as she now stares openly, unafraid and vulnerable.

She slides in under the covers next to me, moving until she rests her head on my pillow. I feel her warm breaths on my lips, her eyes taking in every inch of my face, her nose a fraction of an inch away from my own. I struggle to keep my eyes closed, bite my tongue to keep the '_I'm awake! Please, just don't ever leave again' _from coming out. I can't lose this. I can't continue to watch her watch everything but me. I can't return back to being so monumentally unimportant that I begin to question my own physical existence. I can't lose her.

She trails her middle finger down the side of my face; tracing my eyebrows, the bridge of my nose, my lips. They're barely-there touches but it leaves my skin burning and aching for more. She exhales and I smell her breath; vodka and smoke. She hates nicotine. _Cancer_, she'd say whenever I'd light up. We were putting a shit load of unknown substances into our bodies at an alarming rate but she'd never lay a hand on a cigarette. _Unless someone were to offer._ I clamp down painfully on my tongue, tasting the rusty flavor of blood instantaneously. I imagine her bumming a fag from a beautiful stranger. Small talk on the pavement, crowding under balconies to get out of the rain. She'd watch them light up, marveling at the way it burned and as they exhaled they'd offer it to her. And she'd take it. I feel the familiar pang of jealousy deep inside my ribcage and I become distressed at the thought of a strangers lips touching hers through a cigarette filter.

"Was she good, Naoms?" My breath hitches and I can only hope she didn't notice. All of my muscles tense, terrified at being discovered. I quickly begin to think of excuses when she starts again, her voice lowered to a growl, "Was she a good _fuck_?" There's a pregnant silence that I know well. That same thick moment that passes just as her wide eyes begin to water and she begins to cry. "I can't do this, Naomi." Her words hang in the air and I listen as she lets out a pained sob. "Every time I touch you," Her voice breaks and it drops to a whisper, "I can't help but think whose hand has been there before mine. And it kills me." She moves her head even closer and a salty tear falls onto my lips. The tip of her nose brushes against mine as she cries quietly into the stillness of the night. "I can't stand to look at you but I would rather off myself than let you go. And I hate you for it. You're always fucking scared and you run and you put up these fucking walls; you push me away. But I'm not going _anywhere, _so stop running because I'm _tired._ I'm exhausted." Her weariness is evident in her voice and I feel the guilt suffocate me. "I just want you to need me as much as I need you. Can't I be enough?" She sobs into the crook of my neck and I open my eyes, my vision blurry and wet with unshed tears. All I can see of her is the top of her head, but I breathe her in. I drink in every inch of the burning crimson until I'm drowning in it.

It's dawn when her tears finally subside into tiny hiccups. She trails a single finger across my cheek, covering every inch. My eyeballs move rapidly behind my closed lids but I will them to still. She begins to trace invisible patterns across my skin until she falls asleep with her hand pressed against my chest; undoubtedly feeling the frantic beating of my heart underneath it. Her lips are pressed lightly against my neck and I revel in the way they feel. It's been ages since we've been this close and feeling her pressed against me, just like how it used to be, is enough to revive my lifeless self. I can feel sleep begin to take over my body, like it quickly does whenever she's lying next to me, but I stall it by inching away from her grasp and maneuvering until I'm lying on my side to look at her. Her soft breaths trail across my lips. I physically ache to touch her. To feel her skin against my own. I reach my fingers out to touch her cheek, but I stop before they can make contact. Afraid that this action would wake her and this peaceful moment would cease to exist.

When it comes to defending my beliefs, I would rather die than back down. But when it comes to feelings, these weird fucked-up emotions, I'm the queen of cowards. Whenever I finally muster up enough courage to try to talk to her, to explain to her how big of a fuck-up I am, she won't even give me a chance to get the first words out of my mouth before she leaves the room. I can apologize until I'm black and blue but it still won't make a difference. I just want her to hear what I have to say. Taking in her sleeping form, I realize that this might be the only chance I get to do so. It's cowardly and it's a fucking pantomime but if this is the only way, then so be it.

I test the waters, "Ems?" I barely whisper, nudging her slightly. No response. She's a light sleeper that rouses at the faintest sound, so I'm taken back when she doesn't wake. I chalk it up to an intoxicated slumber and choose my words wisely; making sure that every word counts. "Emily, I... you...it...it fucking terrifies me." I chuckle under my breath at my lameness, glad that she's unconscious and unable to see me making a complete twat out of myself. I sigh and try again, "It scares me. The thought of you... the thought of letting you in. Practically _giving_ you permission to do what ever you will with me. Personally handing over my entire being in a neatly wrapped box with your name on it."

I gaze at her, her peaceful form so breathtakingly beautiful that the ache deep in my chest starts up again. I momentarily forget that this could be my only chance to actually say these words aloud and begin to think of everything I've been dying to say. But it never works out like that, does it? Having an outlined speech already prepared and rehearsed is nothing but shit when you're finally face-to-face with the person. I take a much needed breath and start again, this time unsure of what I'm going to say but my mouth has a mind of its own, "You know, those times... when I get quiet and you know I'm lying when you ask what I'm thinking about and I say nothing?" I pause, expecting a response but then quickly scolding myself for being so stupid. "When I get quiet... those are the times when I realize just how much of myself I've already given you. And I'm thinking of all the ways you can crush me and I can feel my heart, fuck, my whole _being_, begin to fracture in fear that you will. That you'll leave even though you promise that you wouldn't. That you _won't_, ever."

I feel my throat constrict and my hands start to shake as I reach out to cup her face; the first intimate contact I've had with her in months. The moment I feel her skin against mine, I practically melt. The sensation is so overwhelmingly intense that, without even comprehending it, I'm crying. I quickly wipe away the tears and inhale deeply, hoping to pacify my noiseless sobs. _Come on, idiot. Out with it already. _I chance another look at her and I'm falling apart all over again. I can't bring myself to look at her. I divert my gaze, staring directly behind her. "I'm scared that you'll change me into this whole other person. That you'll fuck me over like everyone else." I bite my lip, the heavy realization of what I just said finally sinking in.

"But you're not like the rest of them." I see her move slightly in my peripheral, or so I thought. But when I look at her, I'm met with the same peaceful and heartbreakingly beautiful face. "You're different," I smile fondly, remembering my brave twelve-year-old self saying something similar all those years ago. "And I know that now and I think that's the worst part. Knowing you could break me and me having to trust you not to. Everything I've known, everything I'm used to, makes it hard for me to trust you." I move closer, barely pressing my forehead against hers. "I want to, I really do. But I don't even know where to start, but I swear I'll try. I'll do anything. I really just want to know how to love you properly, and I want you to know that I want to."

I know I'm pushing my luck, but I can't help it. Her lips look perfectly kissable. I gently brush my lips against hers, feeling my body instantly react to it. My body begins to shake with slight tremors and I've seem to have lost control over my limbs. "I'm so sorry." I practically cry out, unable to control the volume of my voice. "I love you, so much. Please, just don't ever leave again." I'm practically falling apart by the time I get the last sentence out, trying my hardest to silence my loud cries. I feel my body go limp with exhaustion, feeling the heavy weight I've been carrying around for so long suddenly lift.

I gape at her, freely. Mapping every inch of her flawless skin, inhaling the subtle scent of her. Restlessly, she moves even closer into my body. Our limbs intertwining, as if they were puzzle pieces falling into place. I feel her hand raise mindlessly until it rests on my hip. Her sleeping form tugging at me with an unusually strong strength until no space exists between us. And even then she attempts to pull me in even tighter. She invades all of my senses. The feel of her velvety skin against mine, the delicious friction between us making the hairs on my arm stand. The smell of her scent asphyxiating me into a numbing stupor. The taste of her lip balm tickling the back of my throat. The sound of her soft and even breathing lulling me into the same peaceful state. The sight of her beautiful face is the last thing I see as my eyes slip closed. My brain goes into overdrive and I can feel my ribs begin to rattle from the constant pounding sourcing from beneath them, slowly diminishing until it's mimicking her own rhythm and they're beating in perfect time. Her sleeping form has singlehandedly revived me, breathed the life back into my empty lungs. It's here, at this very moment, lying perfectly motionless and feeling her warmth encompass me, that I've never felt more alive.

Today, it's the way she pulls me in _that _much closer while she sleeps.

* * *

Thoughts?


End file.
